Till death do us apart
by Tarentilla
Summary: Kurt Hummel is part of the Flying Dutchman's crew. This until a dapper musician named Blaine decides is going to save him. AU Pirates of the Caribbean, angst.
1. Chapter 1

_You can escape from everybody, but you cannot escape from yourself._

* * *

In everyone's eyes, Kurt was the perfect sea predator. Wit in mocking, charming in diplomacy, ruthless killer if needed, plemmathic in dangers, quick, icy and imaginative in swordfights. His shapely and femenine movements and his high pitched voice used to be a cause of teasing, but now the crewmen just mumbled behind his back, not daring to actually face him.

The fact was that the fearsome crew of the Flying Dutchman, at whose name every sailor shaked in his own boots, was scared of this boy. He was skilled, clever, and his spirit hadn't been broken by all those years under the command of the Terror of the Sea. Even when he had bargained with Davy Jones, ten years before, even tough he was so close to death, his blue, magnetic eyes had stood still and resolute. He wasn't like the rest of sailors, begging death to come, not to crew the Hell of the Seas.

Captain Jones himself had been amazed by that kid's selfcontrol, and had offered him to join. But inspite of the Captain's deepest ambitions for that wit and skilled boy, who reminded him of a younger himself, Kurt had never really become like him.

The truth is, Kurt had never said farawell to his past.

Maybe this was the reason why his sprouting had never really started. The reason for he never actually bonded with anybody on the ship. The reason for his eyes darkened whenever he had to kill a common man or a deckhand.

In those circumstances, it seemed that Kurt Hummel wasn't actually born to be a pirate; something had happened and he had chose the road of the sea. His past haunted him.

Sometimes, in the silence of the night, while everybody was sleeping, Kurt would just slip out of his hammock and sit on that old bench just next to the stern. Tears frozen in his eyes, just looking to the horizon. If it hadn't been impossible, the crew would have tought he was planning to runaway.

He wasn't. He wouldn't confess this to a soul, but his heart often begged the stars to make him find someone to save him from what he had become. He knew it was just a silly dream.

He wouldn't dare to imagine that his saviour was just about to come.

* * *

**Hi everybody!**

**I'm new round here and English is not my mother-tongue, so if you notice something that has to be fixed in both grammar and lexic please let me know...**

**So, in brief, Kurt is part of the fearsome Flying Dutchman crew. He thinks that nothing's gonna save him from himself, but he's gonna soon find out he's damn wrong. What else can I say, enjoy!**

**From next chapter:**

_**Oh, there his victim was. A dapper, doe-eyed gentleman who had just stopped playing the piano and was now looking at him with sincere interest.**_

_**"Could you please re-do that note one more time? I think I've just found a way to fix the finale of this aria".**_


	2. Chapter 2

_Music oft hath such a charm  
To make bad good, and good provoke to harm._

* * *

Blaine Kenneth Anderson loved music more than anything else. Ever since he was able to remember, music had been his safe private space. All the people's jokes, all the difficulties he went through, all his father's initial delusion discovering that his son desired to be a musician and not a lawyer - everything had been easily overcome by his natural joy for creating music. While he was composing, as the notes flew in, Blaine felt as if he were nothing but a little part of an immense universe to be discovered. An universe where only harmony and happiness really ruled.

Since he was a little school boy, Blaine had been longing to become a musician. And now, his dream was just about to come true.

One month earlier, following his father's will, he had graduated cum laude from Oxford, and after that he had gathered all his courage and wrote a letter to Sebastian seeking help.

Sebastian was the closest thing to a friend that Blaine had ever had. They couldn't have been more different, but they met. Blaine was a clumpsy, smiley, excellent scholar while Sebastian was a charming but spoiled French child who enjoyed spending his time at parties and short love affairs. Sebastian was followed by a tutor, since his father lived in Lyon and didn't want to take much care of him since his wife had died in giving birth to him.

But friendship blooms through a particular chemistry, and they made friends. Sebastian had been there when Blaine had failed at his first semester in Law School and couldn't tell to his father; he had been there when the news of Mrs Anderson's death arrived, he had stayed with Blaine all night long, tossing the party of the year in London, then he had travelled with him to the Anderson maison to attend the funeral. But most important, Blaine had been the first person to whom Blaine had ever confessed that he liked men in the way he was supposed to love women. For a moment, Blaine had feared that his friend would have turned him down after knowing the truth. After a second, Sebastian had started laughing and answered that he wasn't the only one. Blaine had felt safe for the first time, as with Sebastian he had nothing to hide about. They kept each other company and they grew up together, both changing for the better, even if Sebastian's pride was reluctant to admit it.

All of this ended the previous year, when Sebastian had left England and went to Cuba, in a property left by his recently deceased father. Before leaving, Sebastian had given him a token, an old pocket knife with an inlaid adder biting its own tail, the Smythe's crest, with a promise: if Blaine would had ever wanted to leave England and his planned life to give it a chance as composer in the New World, his house in the Caribbeans would always be open for him, for they would be friends forever. After that the tall, proud French young gave him a big hug, not caring of all people who were staring at them.

So, after getting his degree in Law, Blaine had decided to give himself a chance to live his life. He had reported his decision to his father, and much to his own surprise the old man had agreed with his son. The premature death of his wife Caroline had changed Harold Anderson's perspective of the world bringing him to understand that life was too short to be lived in regrets. So if his son dreamed to chance a career as a musician, he should have helped him to achieve it.

After Harold Anderson had replied all of this, although it was difficult for him to accept it, he had understood his soon inclinations towards men, and that he wanted his son to remember that he would have forever been his Blaine, no matter who he decided to love.

Blaine and his father had never been really close, but both of them would have remember that night in which they had tried to understand each other's point of view.

His travel to America had been carefully organized. Thanks to Sebastian's important friends, Blaine would have travelled for free on an mercantile ship, the Sea Waiver, leaving from Liverpool and heading to Port Royal; then, once arrived in Jamaica, a dear friend and Smythe's employee, Nicholas Duvall, would have escorted him to Avana, where a job as composer in the Saint Mary Cathedral was waiting for him.

When the leaving day arrived, Blaine wouldn't have imagined that his life would change forever.

* * *

Although much of the Flying Ducthman legend was connected with the Kraken, sometimes Davy Jones ordered to his crew to attack without sending his beast, mainly to keep his men active and to liven up their thirst of fight and blood. After all, they still were pirates, even if undead.

Around midday, they had reached over an English mercantile ship, the Sea Waiver, and the attack began. The Captain's orders were clear: no survivors. They were just killing for fun. It could sound paradoxical, but Kurt actually felt better for the Sea Waiver crew. In a strange way, he thought they were lucky. Lucky not to be persuaded to damn their soul in exchange for one hundred more years of torment and sorrow.

When it came to fight, Kurt had a rather unusual defense mechanism. He often found himself to dissociate his mind from what he was actually doing and let it wander free. This time, while he was killing just another sailor, something caught his attention, over the screams and the metal clanking coming from the deck.

Some music was coming from the underdeck. How was it possible? With a smooth sigh, Kurt let his victim fall dead and decided to go below and check.

His search was soon rewarded; on the stern part of the galley, infact, there was a cabin, from which the music was unmistakably coming. After a moment of doubt, Kurt decided to silently open the door. It was a small cabin, with a little cot, a desk and an harpsicord, that the unaware musician was playing. The pirate accorded himself a moment to enjoy the celestial music that was being played. The stranger suddenly started singing in a foreign language that Kurt recognized to be Italian. He was singing the Amor's aria from Orpheus and Euredix. Without even thinking, he quietly started singing along. He didn't notice that the player had stopped until his strong, countrotenour voice belted the last note, a celestial natural F.

As the music fade away, Kurt felt terrible. There his victim was. A dapper, doe-eyed gentleman who had just stopped playing the piano and was now looking at him with sincere interest.

"Could you please re-do that note one more time? I think I've just found a way to fix the finale of this aria" the boy smiled friendly, sending back a tuft of rebellious black curls; "You see, it's the first time I meet a real sopranoist. By the way, I'm Blaine", he explained, reaching out a hand.

Kurt glared at him in disbelief. After ten years in a multicultural crew, he thought he was used to strange people, but that Blaine's naivety was totally outstanding.

Finally, also Blaine noticed that something was wrong. His eyes run from the disbelieving glare of his new friend to the huge cutlass he was carrying, to finally stop at the dark bloodystains on his shirt. His face passed from an happy to a terrified mask.

"Do… do you need help?" he whispered, still glaring at the blood, before frantically handing him a tissue, to stop the bloodloss, probably. "Maybe you should call Mr Robinson, he's the surgeon".

Kurt couldn't help but sarcastically smirk "I'm afraid I can't, for Mr Robinson passed away ten minutes ago. I sincerely appreciate your concern, but I'm not wounded. You see, the boat is currently being under a pirate attack".Blaine stared at him, now really scared "P-pirates? But… I thought there weren't pirates round here. We are on a safe sea lane"

A strange sensation took Kurt's heart, if he still had one. He really didn't feel like harming this man, who was now shaking, horrified.

"Have you ever seen a pirate before, Blaine?" he asked, softening his voice and helping his friend to sit down.

"Not actually… but, I mean, usually pirates hang about killing innocent people, carry old fashioned weapons, drink a lot of rum and after battles they're all covered in blood, don't they". He bat his long eyebrows, than a new realization passed through his mind. "Hold on a minute, but you're are covered in blood, then you're a… a…", he couldn't finish the statement, now really scared.

Kurt snorted, "A perfect syllogism. Aristotle would be proud of you".

Blaine suddenly switched back to a calm, thoughtful expression "Well, actually it's not perfect, for 'you' is generic, I don't even know your real name".

"Kurt. It's Kurt" whispered the pirate, feeling really uneasy. Blaine was looking at him in a mix of fear and innocence, he really didn't want to harm him. He clearly wasn't a sailor, he was disarmed, a musician. And while he was singing, Kurt had felt as his a bit of the player's goodness had passed through him. He decided that he had to save him, come what may.

Without even realizing it, he took the boy's shaking hands and smiled in a way that he hoped was reassuring.

"Blaine, don't worry, please" he murmured, still smiling. Blaine still looked scared, but nodded. He knew it was irrational, but he trusted that angel, even if he had arrived armed and covered in blood. A person with eyes like that couldn't be evil.

"I… we are the crew of the Flying Dutchman", Kurt continued, hurring up.

Blaine shrugged, a bit more comfortable, "Never heard of it, but it sounds cool".

Kurt tried to remain concentrate despite of Blaine's total ingenuity. He had to find a way to save his life, and maybe the fact that he didn't know anything about Davy Jones could be useful.

"Just, if anybody asks you, you say you fear death, uh?" Kurt added, almost in a pleading way. He didn't notice, but he had started shivering. And then, Blaine surprised him one more time. Trying to smile, he stood up and grabbed an old pocket knife he had on the harpsicord, then he reached out a hand to help the pirate stand up.

"Courage" he whispered, in a firm, reassuring voice. "If there's really the Flying Dutchman upstairs it's not a good idea to make them wait, now is it?".

As they went out on the deck, a terrible sight met their eyes. The ground was full of corpses, all that remained of sailors that had the bad luck to cross the Flying Dutchman. Blood and water were dripping over from everywhere. And even if Kurt should have been accustomed to all that violence, to all that blood thirst, in that moment he wished to be dead. He would have rather been a prisoner in the darkest deeps of Hell, than being responsible for that bloodshed. He had never thought of it, but how many families had lost a father, a son, a brother due to his actions? How many innocent men did he coldly murdered?

A sigh turned away Kurt from his considerations. Blaine was still there behind him, astonished. His eyes were wide open, his lips white from pressure and all his muscles stiffened by terror. But before Kurt could say a word, a new character came on the deck. A noisy peg leg, a vicious smile, and blue cruel eyes. In a name, Davy Jones.

The pirate let his eyes run across the deck before dwelling on Kurt and Blaine.

"Mister Hummel!" he exclaimed, with a sarcastic smirk. "We are delighted that you've decided to come along at last, but as long as I recall I had said 'no survivors', now did I?".

Kurt desperately tried to find a suitable answer, but before he could do it, the Captain abruptly pushed him away and came closer to Blaine.

"Well, well, what shall we do now with ya, uh?" Davy Jones said, grabbing the boy by his shirt collar, "Do you fear death, lad?".

Kurt held his breath in fear. He knew it was egoistical, but for some reason he didn't want Blaine to die. On the other hand, he knew that being under Davy Jones' command was an anticipation of the Hell that waited for them all.

Well, Blaine Anderson's answer made everybody flinch. He glared at the pirate in a curios, suddenly calm way.

"Doesn't everybody?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Doesn't everybody?"

As these words belted out, a sudden memory hit Kurt's mind.

_The rain kept falling, smashing on the unfortunate sailors. The five survivors were there, kneeling in a line. The Kraken had come brief and ruthless, yet they still had terrible images in their eyes. The Kraken had destroyed the brigantine in less than five minute, leaving them hopeless._

_In front of their brutally dead mates, in front of all the blood that had been shed, they were now waiting for death to come and get them. _

_Finally, in a dramatic, theathrical way, Davy Jones appeared on the deck. For a moment, the sailors hoped he would offer them to join his crew, but the Captain had decided there were to be no survivors. After the corpses had been thrown overboard, a gasp was heard. Alongside to where the marines used to be, there was a boy, not older than eighteen, probably a stockaway, who was looking at the Captain in disbelief._

_As he realized that he had been noticed, his eyes went straight down. It was too late, anyway. _

"_What are ya staring at, kid?" the pirate hissed angrily. _

_The unknown sailor raised his eyes and met the Captain's. And much to the pirate's surprise, what could be read in those tu__rquoise irises wasn't fear and terror, as he had expected. In a certain way, Davy Jones liked to bargain with the surrenders, even when he knew about to kill them anyway, for a sort of sadistic plaisure in observing their fear. But those eyes were defying him, in a mix of resignation and pride. And he felt irritated by that._

"_Do you fear death, uh?" he sarcastically asked, before drawing his own broadsword. _

_The boy didn't even flinch. "I eager it" he mumbled, before shutting his eyes, ready to die._

_And then, Davy had to stop. The point of that cutscene was to kill people who were craving to live and to enjoy it; it wasn't meant to help willing people to pass away._

_He grabbed the boy, forcing him to open his eyes and meet his gaze._

"_And why would you wish that, uh?" he asked, in a mix of hatred and irony. The boy stood still for a moment. Then, he slowly opened part of his shirt, revealing a new scar on an almost niveous skin. Davy Jones smoothly gasped in surprise and let him go. The boy now looked almost relaxed._

"_Because of this" he whispered coldly, still holding Davy's gaze, then he quickly covered the scar. _

_Davy Jones suspiciously stared at that boy. He seemed weak, with those big eyes and that physique, but his attitude and the gaze with which he was challenging him revealed a stronger personality and total self control. And that scar showed he had already known the worst of human life._

"_I'd take you in my crew, lad, if it wasn't that for sure you long to return to your home" speculated the pirate. Maybe all the courage he had shown had been a bluff. The boy esitated for a moment, and Davy lifted his weapon once again, foretasting the pleasure of killing him. Then, a few words froze him._

"_I have nothing to come back to. I accept your offert" he suddenly said, in a firm voice. _

_Davy Jones couldn't help but smile. That boy hided some useful qualities._

"_Well-a, welcome tae the crew, mister…"_

"_Kurt. Kurt Hummel"._

Suddenly, as soon as it had appeared, Kurt's vision faded away. Looking back to past was totally useless. No time for regrets.

Blaine was still there, looking at the Captain in an almost curious way. Murmurs kept arising from the crew. Why on earth was the Captain stalling like that?

The truth is that Davy Jones was totally astonished for once.

He was used to scare people. Some cried, some pleaded, some just stood there, too shaken to speak. But nobody had ever dared to answer him in kind.

Seriously, that boy wasn't normal. After an initial scared reaction, he was now staring at him as if he was actually waiting for a reply. The point is that, beneath that curly mop of hair, through that big, frightful eyes, a scholarly heart was beating in Blaine. Curiosity overwhelmed his fear, that's it.

He could have killed him. One deep slash and those innocente eyes would have stopped staring him forever.

But that would have been a safe runaway. And day-life could be so boring on the Flying Dutchman.

So, why shouldn't he have taken that strange boy in his crew?

Just to spice things a bit. And if it turned out that he was utterly useless, he could have always kill him straight away.

"What's your, name, lad?" he asked, in a almost bored voice. The boy, apparently lost in dreamland, startled a bit "Blaine. Blaine Anderson."

After teleporting himself and his crew back to the Flying Dutchman, the Captain skeptically raised an eyebrow, as Bline was looking around in disbelief "Well, welcome tae the crew, Curly Top".

**Hi there! I'm sorry I'm late and I still do so much errors, but you see, there's no grammar like English grammar... :D**

**In the next chapter, a bit of Klaine!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi everybody,**  
**I had some troubles writing lately, but here I am again, and you'll feel the Klaine kickin' in!**

**As usual, Read and Review!**

**Tarentilla**

_**Out of place, out of time, out of mood**_

As many lonely children do, Blaine had always had a wide imagination. Closing his eyes, he could build up castles with terrible enemies to be defeated , jungles crowded of tall trees and inhabitated by fantastic creatures.

The problem is that he also developed the habit of extraniating himself from unpleasent or painful situations by using his mind. And that could be extremely dangerous, especially among a crowded, busy crew as the Dutchman's was.

The main deck teemed of sailors preparing the boat to take off; there were barrels to be shifted, sails to be fixed and anchored to the booms, courses to be quickly charted. Definetly, the main deck could become a dangerous place if you didn't pay attention.

And Blaine was a terrific but terrible daydreamer.

Kurt stalled for a moment, staring at him from the starboard part. Then, as he saw a lifted barrel about to fall far too close to the latest arrival, he stepped foward and firmly pulled him aside. Blaine bat his big eyes, just as waking up, and looked at Kurt in a curious way.

"Do you need anything?" he asked in a polite way. Definetly, he hadn't noticed what was about to happen. Kurt felt irration raise. How could it ever bumped in his mind the idea of bringing that guy in the crew? Blaine would have brought him nothing but troubles, he was sure of it. He just didn't know how much his prediction would become true.

"Anderson, now you listen to me, and you listen hard. I'm not your nanny, I don't have the time to look after you every minute of my life. This is a boat, not a kindertgarden playground, and you can't fool around the deck, because it's dangerous and I'm not fancy of getting myself in trouble because of you. So, grow up, alright?"

Blaine nodded, his large eyes wide open. He seemed about to burst into tears, but Kurt did not have the time to care about it. In all those years, he had managed to keep going on because he had avoided any emotional involvement. He couldn't afford to consider the others' feelings if he wanted to survive.

"The Captain is waiting for you, Hummel. You'd better go" a subtle voice suddenly came from behind him, and Kurt couldn't help but flinch, even if he had recognized the speaker. He slowly turned away.

A strange subject was staring at Kurt and Blaine. He was a man, slim and considerably tall, even if a slight humpback lowered him. It was nearly impossible to age him, for he had sparse but long blonde hair; his blue eyes runned with an uncomfortable glee from the pirate to the musician.

"I can take care of our Mr Anderson, don't worry" he hissed in a soft, but scary voice.

Kurt quickly nodded and hurried away, leaving Blaine with this uncomfortably strange stranger. Blainw followed him with the eyes, but the stranger grabbed his elbow gently but suddenly and took the latest arrival to a less traveled part of the deck.

Blaine felt cold shrills running through his back, as he stared at him in a serious and slightly mocking way.

"Your first name is Blaine, right?" he hissed, dangerpusly tiltling the head.

Blaine couldn't help but nod "Yes, sir. Blaine Kenneth Anderson". Even if he was scared, his subconscious worked in a straight polite way. The stranger smirked.

"Mine is Riff Raff. Now Blaine, take my advice, and take it quickly. You'd better forget that Hummel while you still can. He's too much to you. It'll be dangerous to stick around him, trust me. In not much longer time, dangerous changes're gonna happen on the Dutchman".

Riff Raff paused, and took a minute to contemplate Blaine's terrified expression. He looked far more young than his twenty years, with his drenched tufts and whitened face.

"You look like an adorable guy, you know? One of those kids who starve to please everybody, polite, dapper, doe-eyed. Adorable. Maybe too adorable to survive on the Dutchman, but who knows" he finished, dedicating him a slant smile before disappearing.

Blaine tottered, and had to grab on something to remain on his feet. He wasn't him who had planned to end up on the Flying Dutchman. He didn't like sailing, he honestly disliked the sea. He had agreed to follow Kurt just because he belived in circustamces. He was an artist, he had to take chances in his life. He had arrived there by impulse, but maybe that Riff Raff was right. He didn't have any possiblity to survive long there.. But what had really got him startle had been Kurt's reaction. He was used to being told that he was naive, adorable, fluffy. That he was worth a damn, and that he had to go away. But Kurt had seemed different from everybody; it had seemed he had understood him and his personality, and that's what hurt him most.

"Ahoy!"

Blaine slowly turned to see who was speaking and blankened. A pirate on his fifty, covered by seawood and shells, was looking at him menacingly.

He lowered to his eyes and hissed "Boy, what are you doing here, off duty?"

Blaine couldn't help but feel a cold shrill running down his back. And now what was he supposed to do?


	5. Chapter 5

_**Rolling in the deep**_

Jimmylegs, this was the name of the bo'sun, smirked at the sight of that boy's pale expression.  
He loved to scare people to death, that's why he enjoyed keeping discipline on the Flying Dutchman. It was a rather usual practice to prank on the newest arrivals, at least till their sprouting had started. With that Hummel he hadn't been able to have so much fun, mostly because of his attitude. Truth be told, Kurt was good, definetly too good at piracy to find a way to catch him red-handed.

He held it over a bit, enjoying fright growing on the boy's face. As the bo'sun, he could have punished him for being off duty during his shift. It would have been scenographic, loud, enough painful to the crew's entertainment. But it would have been… _boring_. And since Hummel had decided to take that curly mopped lass under his wing, Jimmylegs suddenly realized he'd just found a way to take his revenge.

"Well-a lass, what you've done is really serious" he said, coming closer to the boy "And as the bo'sun of this ship, I have the duty to keep the discipline among the crew".

He had to hold back himself from bursting out in an evil laughter. His victim was terrified, shaken, scared. He was young enough to be easily tricked.

"But since it's your very first night on the Flying Dutchman and the Captain seems to have taken a spot on you, I guess I could turn a blind eye on it this time" he finished, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder "Why don't we take a drink, lad?"

* * *

Blaine had never felt so dizzy in his life.

When the bo'sun had found him, he was stuck in the middle of fear and awkardness. He didn't want to make a bad impression, even if he was relating with a bunch of criminal pirates. And truth be told, he found the bo'sun, Jimmysets or whatever was his name, and his friends a bit scary, and he had noticed their moching laughters while he was sipping the drink they had offered him, but he felt that refusing would have been rather _unpolite_. And many things could be said about Blaine, but not that he didn't have manners.

After he had finished his drink, however, he felt a rather strange sensation, as if he had a fire struck in his troath. He tried to move, but his head had started aching greatly.

As he retreated, he felt his back slamming against the bulkhead. The world turned upside down, and then his body bluntly hit the water surface.

* * *

Kurt was swabbing the upper deck.

It was quite a humble job, much more adaptable to a common sailor than to an experienced pirate, but Kurt liked it. It was simple and tiring at the same time, so that he could wonder a bit without losing his connection with the world.

He couldn't help but thinking about Blaine. Why had he decided to bring him on the Dutchman? Why was Blaine behaving like that? Why had he left him in the hands of Riff Raff, even if he knew the Captain's calling was just a bluff?

But most of all, why had he allowed himself to care for him?

A sudden splash and some evil laughters deverted him from his wonderings. He saw the bo'sun, Jimmylegs, the First Mate, Maccus, and another bunch of pirates staring at the water face with a mix of leisure and concern. They had been probably doing a prank to a new sailor. His back ached at the sudden memory of the only time he had been pranked by them.

He wondered who their victim was.

Before he could even properly think about it, he was there, overlooking the port bulkhead.

"Ay, Hummel, looks like Curly Mop has found his soup at last!" an unnamed crewman greeted him, reversing the wood cup and showing him an amber liquid dipping.

Kurt suddenly felt sick, but he had to look at what happened. He came closer, and saw why his mates were laughing so hard. A man had fallen overboard, and was now struggling against the water to remain on surface. The hilarious part, at least according to them, was that the more the man tried to remain on surface, the more he was twiching, and therefore sinking. One more look, and he unexplicably felt his heart fell.

The man was _Blaine_.

"We have to do something" he yelled to his mates "he's gonna drown in a minute or so". He stood there, upright, his voice firm and clear, calm but ready. His crewmates shut down at the sudden authority displayed in his voice, but the bo'sun stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

"Slow down, _Pretty Face_. I'm in charge here, and I say we gotta wait for the Captain" he hissed, as the crew started laughing in relief. If Davy Jones found out that a drunk sailor had left the ship, he would have got mad. And Kurt couldn't let this happen. Not only for Blaine, but mostly for himself.

He knew that he was to break a lot of rules, and that facing the consequences of his actions would have been too painful even to be considered. He knew that both the bo'sun and the Captain were waiting for an occasion like this to avenge. He knew that Riff Raff would have totally disapproved.

It took him only one second to make up his mind.

Then, he threw his boots and jacket to the nearest sailor, and with a fluid movement he dived into the black ocean.

* * *

_Any object, wholly or partially immersed in a fluid, is buoyed up by a force equal to the weight of the fluid displaced by the object._

This phrase stuck in Blaine's mind. It was Archimedis'principle, basis of the hydrostatic. It had to work, for physic's sake. Then why wasn't it?

He kept moving, but it was useless. His muscles were getting heavier and heavier, begging him to stop and rest. But he struggled to stay on surface; he realized that if he let himself go, he would have never come back again. Panic started filling his mind: what if he had stayed there for too long? What if nobody on the boat would have helped him?What if they would just leave him floating until death do overtake?

His vision darkened, and with a feeling of heaviness he slided in the deeps.


	6. Chapter 6

As he managed to get Blaine lying on the deck, Kurt climbed the bulkhead and collapsed on his knees, a hand on his chest in a hard grip. He was breathing heavily, as water was drenching down his hair and the semitransparent camisole he wore under the jacket he had previously tossed away. Cold chills were running trough his almost bare back, but he hadn't time to care about it. Under the incredulous eyes of the crew, he came really close to a semi-inconscious Blaine, bending over him to make sure he was still breathing.

Blaine was there, confusion painted on his face, drenched to the bone, wet curls that fell over his forehead, his big eyes made more enchantig by the water. Kurt noticed just there that his irises were of a strange shade of brown, almost golden.

He was so concentrated, that when he heard Riff Raff 's voice he almost jumped from surprise.

"It seems that the phoenix has reborn from its ashes, once again" the handy man said, looking at someone behind Kurt with a smirk. As Kurt raised his head in confusion, he added, always keeping a huge smile "Nothing to worry about, I was just admiring your tatoo. Peculiar, isn' it Captain? Almost _intimidating"._

Kurt slowly turned his head to meet the Captain's gaze. Needless to say, Davy Jones didn't appear just as enthusiastic; he was staring at Kurt's right shoulder in a mix of astonishment and rage. Kurt quickly glanced at his shoulder. He'd had that tatoo since he was able to remember; it was a magnificent phoneix rising from a subtle line of dush.

The captain gasped a couple of times, as if trying to restrain anger, and then look coldly at the pirate.

"I thought you'd have taken care of our newest arrival, Hummel" he hissed, fuming in his place. If it wasn't impossible, Kurt would have thought that he was being forced not to react.

He didn't even know if or how he was supposed to answer, so he merely grasped his old jacket, that one of the crewmen was handling him, and quickly fastened it to the last button, as if he didn't want to show up his chest. He then stood up and quickly shifted to the side, among some crewmen.

Jones quickly glanced at him, before concentraiting on the other boy. Blaine was still at the ground, shivering. As the Captain came closer, obviously wanting to reverse his frustrastion over him, the boy widened his drenchy eyes and stood up, waving a bit on his feet.

"Not so fast, Anderson" Davy hissed, his thick Scottish accent coming out again.

Blaine just stared at him, looking a bit confused. Then, he squared his shoulders, and his scholarly attitude came over, sketching an expression of self-sufficiency. He was an Oxford fierce cum laude scholar, he couldn't let himself be intimidated by a bunch of stinky, illeterate pirates. Actually, Kurt was a pirate _and _ the most gorgeous guy he had ever seen, but that's a different story.

Now he couldn't follow the heart; he had to show the piracy world what Blaine Kenneth Anderson was about and share the inside power of culture. Pity that the alcohol that was running in his veins wasn't of the same opinion.

"Mutatis mutandis" he started, a raised eyebrow "in vino veritas et si lex non distinguitur nos non distinguere debemus. Legum servi sumus ut liberi esse possimus; mutantur omnia nos et mutamur in illis. Mendacem memorem esse oportet: memento mori".

His tone was matter-of-factly, his gaze firm and a bit annoyed; but the most alarming part was his attitude, as if he felt annoyed and disturbed by someone who considered inferior than himself. Riff Raff was amazed; Davy Jones, livid.

To worsen their already precarious situation, Blaine was caught in a violent attack of hiccups, conseguent to the mix of alcool and salt water, at the same moment when Kurt bursted into nervous laughters, having been able to understand the impromptu oration in Latin and unable to retain himself.

Jones flashed both with a dead cold stare; he obviously hadn't understood a word of what that curly haired boy had just said, but Hummel's laughters were a good hint of his speech's subject. At his gaze, Blaine gulped for fear and nature, while Kurt flashed his eyes to the ground, struggling to regain self control.

"Since you look so amused, Hummel, could you please share your joy with us and translate what our common friend has just said?" he asked Kurt with a low, dangerous voice "And pray that it is not anything as hilarious as it sounds".

Kurt startled greatly. How on earth was he supposed to fix that situation?

He dedicated to his new ball and chain a flaming stare. Blaine looked back as if he hadn't understood the reason for all the fuss they were making.

Jones cleared his throat "Make us dream, Hummel".

Kurt stalled a second, then he resigned to use his imagination.

"Altough my Latin notions are really humble, I presume I could provide you an approximative translation" Jones raised an eyebrow, but let him continue anyway "Assuming that I've understood what I've heard in the way it was ought to be understood, I suppose that the resume of the message of what my mind has perceived could resemble the meaning of a statement" he made a dramatic pause, cold chills down his back at meeting the Captain's eyes "like: I'm awfully sorry".

Jones narrowed his eyes and stepped really close to the one who had just spoken.

"Try once again to kid me like that one more time, and there won't be memory to prevent me from making you wish you were dead" he hissed to Kurt, stopping at a inch to his face.  
The boy flinched, but his eyes stood firm and resolute. He wouldn't betray Blaine, not that night.

The Captain held back a snort of annoyance, before turning to the other boy, who had shifted closer to Kurt, as if in potential defense.

"What about you, instead" he whispered wickedly, lowering his voice as he grabbed him by the collar "You're nothing but a naive, anxious, worthless bohemian who's…"

He was interrupped by a strangely jovial tone.

"As much as I find grammatical disquisition intertraining, Sir, I should remind you that time is fleeting. We ought to reach Cape Code by midnight, and this isn't gonna happen if we don't make the Dutchman sail, 'cause it's a rather special night tonight".

Riff Raff had just appeared behind the boy, his head tilted, his eyes disturbingly shining.

He smirked a bit, and the Captain draw back in fear.

"For your luck, I have much more important think to care about know than your little tricks" he hissed, before going away in hurry.

It almost looked like a runaway, you see.


	7. Chapter 7

**Lean on me**

The next few hours were frenetic and thoughtful.

Blaine had been ordered to swab the lower deck, near the hold. That place must had known better times and cleanings before he arrived, for sure, but at least he had been left on his own.

It had been that man, Riff Raff, who had 'strongly advised' him to find himself something to do. Blaine had took it as an invitation to get out of the way, and he had quickly disappeared.

What had just happened had left him a bit shaken, and he liked to think that the man –for some strange reason, Riff Raff didn't look like a pirate to him-, had just wanted to give him time and place to shake it out a bit. His hands were still trembling, both for the speech and for what he had seen before.

After a while, he threw the towel on the floor in defeat, he closed his eyes and let his memory take over.

_Darkness. Darkness and cold all around him._

_He felt he was just falling down, recklessy doomed. He had nothing to hope, nothing to lean on._

_Maybe that was a worth ending for an unworthy life. _

_In a flash of lucidity, he realized he was sinking fast because his lungs were losing the air they used to contain. There wasn't much left to the end._

_It was all so black and scary around him. He had always been lonely, but he had never felt alone like now._

_He quit trying to surface again. Sun was gone, and hope with it._

_It was when he totally gave up, that two turquoise, bright, desperate eyes cut trough his night._

_For a moment, he thought he had landed in afterlife. And if the thresold of afterlife was populated by so beautiful, kind, ethereal creatures like the man who was now reaching him, it decided that dying wasn't so terrible at last._

_Then, he felt a hopeless, strong, _alive_ squeeze around his waist, and he realized that his saviour wasn't an heavenly guard come to bring him on the other side._

_It was Kurt._

_He had no reasons to trust him once again. _

_He did nevertheless._

_He clung to his camisole dead weight, and with an unintentionally tear his hand shifted to his niveous skin. It moved to grab tighter, and Kurt let him be, as he struggled to see once again the light. _

_Blaine involountary flinched when he felt a discrepancy on that so soft skin. He looked more carefully, and his heart missed some beats._

_A crimson dreadfully were carved on his chest. Flaming letters that would have haunted his dreams for the rest of his life._

_His hand drew back in horror, and as Kurt felt someone closing his shirt, as he saw the look in his eyes, as they both surfaced once again, he did something that totally messed Blaine up._

_Eyes full of terror, he stared at him in fright and defy, before swimming to the Dutchman and having them hauled up. _

_Saved from the waters, handed to their nightmares._

A soft noise had him waking from his wonderings. It was coming from behind the little storage room placed between the lower deck and the stern. Once again, curiosity overwhelmed his fear, and he once again came closer to see what was going on.

Curled up against a wall, hopelessy looking to the stars, fresh tears shining from the moonlight, Kurt was there, looking for peace where there was none.

"Hey" Blaine said, trying to smile friendly. Kurt answered with a dead frightened stare, and Blaine gave himself a mental kick for what he termed his imbecility. The most gorgeous, kind hearted boy he had ever met was there crying because of a situation he had been put trought by a stranger's dumbness and all he could end up with was 'Hey'?

Kurt had been lying there for who knows how long.

His muscles were aching greatly, as he curled himself with his knees as close as possible to his chest, but that was exactly what he was looking for; a pain great enough from preventing his mind to take over. He was scared, _damned_ scared of what could happen next.

As Blaine's voice filled his ears, he had no choice put wear once again the mask that was slowlt, tenderly choking him.

"What do you want from me?" he hissed, raising his head, his whole body shaking with pure adrenaline.

"I just wanted" words died in Blaine's throat, and he had to wait to continue "I just wanted to talk with you about what happened".

Kurt reaction didn't exactly turn out as Blaine dreamt it. He quickly rose to his feet and went closer to Blaine.

"Nothing happened" he whispered, trying to keep his voice dangerous low but sounding terrified "And even if you think you had seen anything, it mean nothing".

Blaine raised both of his hands in defeat.

"Alright, alright" he answered, backing "I just wanted you to know that you're not alone. We're on the same boat".

Kurt raised both his eyebrows, before understanding the true meaning of Blaine's words. He felt the ground under his feet fail him, and Blaine quickly helped him sit down once again.

"I just want you to know that I'm here, no matter what's up, no matter what I'm doing. Anytime, just lean on me, alright?" he said in the most comforting voice he could muster, daring to stroke a bit his shoulders to calm him down. He then quickly stood up, realizing that maybe the other one wanted to stay alone.

Part of Kurt wished Blaine had stayed.

**Read and review!**


	8. Chapter 8

When Riff Raff had first met Kurt, it was a stormy, fighting night.

He had already seen him when he had joined the crew, of course, but he hadn't been given the right occasion to confirm his suspects. He knew that he should have been whom he had been waiting for so long, but he needed to be sure.

Twist of fate, it was Jones'closer collaborator, Jimmylegs, the bo'sun, who gave him the possibility to uphold his hypothesis.

After the Kraken call, the Dutchman crew had landed on the half destroyed deck of an almost wrecked vessel. Nevertheless, the equipage hadn't surrended yet and was still trying to defend their ship. Needless to say, it ended up in a bloodbath.

It was one of the very first nights on the Flying Dutchman for Kurt, and the first time he was to take part into a raid ever; moreover, a terrible storm was raging, making visibility reduceed. In conditions like that, a person not used to piracy can be caught by a blind, icy terror that retards reactions and defenses. There he stood, in the middle of the way, his spoil abandoned to his feet, unable to take it any more. All round him the battle was going on; he seemed not to notice them.

But somebody had noticed him. The bo'sun had taken part to the raid, mostly to keep control of the crew and to fulfill his thirst of pain. His eyes had landed on the shaken kid and sparkled with joy.

Jimmylegs was well-known for his passion for discipline and his hazing attitude. That's why nobody appeared very surprised to see and learn what happened next.

The official version was that he had tried to 'encourage' the newcomer to fight. Reality was a bit different.

Kurt was so lost in his mind that didn't notice him coming at first. Not that he could have anything even if he would; the pirate was immeasurably stronger than him, and with a push and a flick of the whip he always brought with him he managed to wrestle him to the floor. The boy weakly tried to step up, and as he moved, it showed a vermillion spreading bloodstain on his back. The bo'sun smirked and prepared himself to attack him once again, when a sudden force was opposed to his weapon.

"Don't our bosun have better things to do than picking up fights with harmless lads?"

Jimmylegs viciously turned away to face his opponent, but he suddenly had to lower his weapon.

Altough his foe was tall, lean as a shadow, and armed with a dangerous old sword, Riff Raff was probably the worst person whom you could decide to antagonize. He had known Davy Jones more than any other on the ship; it almost looked like the Captain was scared of him.

He wasn't even dressed like a pirate; he wore an old dark tuxedo and a dust coat, he hanged about usually unarmed. It wasn't clear why the Captain was keeping him on the boat, but nobody had ever dared to ask for further explanations.

He was flicking an ancient, strange sword that had never been seen aboard the Dutchman. It was a lean broadsword, resembling a spoil, with an elaborated haft which covered part of the hand. Jimmylegs tried to answer back, but Riff''s placid, mocking smile made his blood freeze.

"Get him back on the Dutchman" the bosun hissed, trying hard to regain respect, before raging against some survivors.

Riff Raff quickly smirked, before helping Kurt to his feet. When the bosun's sword had slashed the boy's shirt, he had managed to see what he needed. On the left shoulder, he had glanced at a glorious phoneix, the same as the sword's one.

Kurt was whom he was looking for, at last.

* * *

Blaine was slowly getting used to the Dutchman's daily routine.

Considering the great size of the ship, the crew was restricted, being made up of only about fifthy sailors. They where divided into two working teams that alternated from dawn until twilight; for the night, there were littler teams in rotation.

It took him three days to understand what had become of Kurt.

It was one of his new acquaintance, Bootstrap, one of the most humanized sailors, that unrevealed this mistery to him.

Kurt theorically belonged to their team, but actually worked for both; it seemed that the sea had for him a special call, that didn't let him stay away from the deck for too long. But even during his own shifts, Blaine only managed to glance at him in rare occasions and always for not more than a moment. Kurt worked mainly on the crow's nest, or on the riggings, where he moved lightly and deftly, in the most dangerous tasks.

He had naively hoped he'd get to see Kurt in the evenings; but the solitary sailor spent most of the nights on his own, nowhere to be found. Blaine reaized that he was trying to avoid the company of the crew, almost as much as the others despised him. It had happened sometimes to Blaine to overheard or be involved in rumors about Kurt. Mostly they bloomed from envy, because Kurt was born for the job, or from ignorance, for he stood out loud enough even if he hided himself.

The occasion to test firsthand how much Kurt was an outcast round there came the fifth or the sixth night he was there, when a storm forced the entire crew to gather in the hold.

It was Koleiniko, one of the navigators, who proposed the bone of contention.

The crew used to play music when they were all together, and that night made no exception; most of the sailors couldn't actually sing, but did nevertheless.

As a people person, Blaine appreciated the effort; as a musician, his perfect pitch and his innate sense of rhytm were cying. He had hoped that Kurt's contribution as a sopranoist would have saved the performance, and he was quite surprised not to hear his celestial pitch among those rude, deep voices. As the song finished, the crewmen prepared the barrels to gamble at dices, and Blaine gathered all his courage to come closer to Kurt, who was standing in the corner, and solve that mistery.

As Kurt saw him approaching, a shy but shining smile lightened his face.

"How are you doing today, Blaine?" he asked, shifting to the side to make space for him.

"I'm fine, thank you" Blaine answered, trying to smile "But I do have a question for you, actually".

Kurt whitened a bit, but answered in a polite way anyway "Please do tell".

Blaine took a breath, then looked Kurt in the eyes "Why weren't you singing before?" Kurt tried to justify himself, but Blaine was quicker "I might as well be dumb on other matter, but music is my life. You're the only one who can sing, so why don't you?"

Kurt looked frantically around them to make sure nobody was overhearing, then answered "Just in case you haven't noticed, Blaine, I have a rather high pitch. I'm already an outcast even if I don't step out further".

Blaine looked at him almost in a pleading way, and Kurt felt something strange, something as sadness for he was being miserable "You're a sopranoist. You could kill My Jolly Sailor Bold if you only had enough courage to try".

Kurt felt the plead and the provocation in his words. And many things he could stand to be said about him, but not that he was a coward. Maybe, if he kept his voice enough quite, he would have managed to sing without being noticed.

"Come with me" he mumbled, taking Blaine's hand and shifting in the shadows to bring him among the night quarters, where he was more likeable not to be heard.

"Courage" Blaine added, encouragingly smiling.

With Blaine's warmness in his cold heart, Kurt closed his eyes and let music flow as he knew it could .

"_Upon one summer's morning  
I carefully did stray  
Down by the Walls of Wapping  
Where I met a sailor gay."_

He had whispered quite enough not to be overheard, but Blaine stared at him worshipful. That was the singer whose voice and person he had fallen in love with.

"Conversing with a young lass  
Who seem'd to be in pain,  
Saying, Blaine, when you go  
I fear you'll ne'er return again."

His confidence grew strong, as well as the intensity of his voice. He didn't notice his surroundings, for at calling Blaine name he had shut his eyes closed, to feel the blackness around him.

_"My heart is pierced by Cupid  
I disdain all glittering gold  
There is nothing can console me  
But my jolly sailor bold"_

As he reached the third verse, his voice had reached his normal intensity, and his pitch. He opened his eyes, meeting Blaine's. The musician was there, staring at him lost in amazement, as if he had just heard something shocking. He moved and reached Kurt's hand. The pirate instinctively withdrew, and after a second he was outside, on the deck. He surpassed RiffRaff without even noticing him.

He didn't know what happened to him. He had just tossed to the wind years of secrecy for a song. And, most important, he didn't feel guilty about it.

Singing again out loud, after all those years of hiding and silence, had been catartic; the problem is, someone else had stopped to hear his innaturally pure voice, and he wasn't being enthusiastic about it.

Riff Raff was staying at the thresold of the dormitory, hidden among the shadows. As much as he enjoyed Kurt's voice, he had felt danger in Blaine's behaviour. With his naivety, with his music, he was making Kurt fall in love with him.

He couldn't let that boy ruin a lifetime of planned revenge and destiny; Kurt was loyal, extremely loyal, and he'd abandon that life of Blaine asked him.

They were meant to be together, and yet together they risked to hinder a scripted destiny.


	9. Chapter 9

And... back from the dead I am!

I'll try to upload asap ;-)

Surrealism seemed to have gained the upper hand over the Dutchman.

Endless days followed endless night.

Blaine felt as if he was standing in waiting. He didn't know exactly what to expect, but he did think that something should have happened. Kurt and he had shared a moment which could be defined in no other way but special. His mask had fallen for a moment, and Blaine had ingenuously dreamt that they could get closer. That he had found somebody to care and by whom be cared of at last. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Kurt had kept avoiding any human contact, involving himself in solitary dangerous tasks harder than ever. And the few times in which Blaine had tried to reach him or dared to start a conversation, Kurt had tended to be distant and cut it short, taking every opportunity to quickly get away.

Endless days.

Time needn't to be marked. They didn't have a target to reach; he was just repairing sailings, anchoring booms, swabbing the decks, pulling ropes so hard that his hands frequently bleed from extreme rubbing. Being the son of a quite wealthy merchant, Blaine had never actually done handwork; he was willing to work, that's true, but it was evident that he was clueless about what to do.

The other pirates tended to ignore him; Bootstrap, with whom he had been working on some barrels, had explained him that he used to have a son of his age, and that he reminded him of his William, but for most of the time Blaine was alone, with his gloomy toughts to keep him company.

Endless nights.

Blaine couldn't decide what was worse, to spend the night with the Flying Dutchman's crew or to be on watch on the deck.

Spending the night in the hold or the dormitories, along with the other crewmen had soon enough become uncomfortable and embarassing. He definetly stood out among the sailors, no matter what he tried to do. The first time he had tried to adapt his lexicon to pirate slang, his interlocutor had burst out in laughters, addressing him with slang terms whose meaning he didn't know, but whose aim he could easily imagine. He couldn't help being a white collar daddy's boy, he couldn't help wrapping his hands not to make them sting that much the wrong way, he couldn't help being a dreamer and keep hoping that things would change.

Being on watch at nights was possibly even creepier. At least there weren't expert seamen hanging around more than willing to stress out his cluelessness about piracy, but a gloomy athmosphere and a piercing cold easily filled the vacancy.

The only thing that connected day and night, twilight and dawn was music.

From the Captain's cabin came a melanchonic, helpless melody, always the same. Blaine had never dared to ask for explanation, but being a composer himself he wondered which was the reason, perhaps romantic, why Davy Jones never played anything else.

During one of those night, he had almost gotten himself in trouble because of that magnetic tune. It had been a hard day; he had been repairing sailings for hours, and moving his hands after sewing them all was bloody painful. He had managed to see Kurt, but the pirate had totally ignored him, as if they were complete strangers. That's way he was enjoying to be on watch for once. It gave him time to think and let his mind wander.

After the twelfth repetition or so, a foolish idea stuck in his mind: since he had nothing to do and he had already learnt the tune by heart at that point, why shouldn't he try to write down the notes and manipulate it a bit, just to keep his hand and his mental healt?

There was nobody around here. No-one could judge him for what he was about to do. He fumbled in his pocket to pull out a piece of paper and a piece of charcoal, and rewrote Davy Jones' melody by ear. The he isolated the original tune from the organ transposition. It wasn't so bad, after all. Maybe a bit too melodrammatic for his taste, but lively. It just needed to be restored and remastered a bit, that's it.  
Soon enough he was floating in another place, made up of absolute concentration and harmonies, where dimensions just needn't to exist.  
He was lost. He was happy.

When he felt a pressure upon his shoulder, he flinched, inadvertently throwing away the impromptu sheet and the charcoal. He slowly turned around, sure that had gotten in big troubles. Dutchman sailors didn't sound like music lovers at all.

Luckly for him, it was a person he had got to know well. After days of departure, Kurt had come back, and was now looking at the sheet with interest.

He would never tell this anybody, but he had actually been musically educated, at least until his life had taken the wrong turn.

He rose his sight, and Blaine noticed the dark circles that gloomed his face. He really looked like someone who had just taken a ride to Hell.

"I thought you'd never showed around again" Blaine said, gathering a bit of self-confidence and trying to appear merrier than he was. As soon as he saw Kurt's expression, however, his happy smile froze and flew away.

"Sometimes I really wonder if under that basket of curls you have a truly working brain" Kurt hissed, quickly glancing around to check out if someone was approaching "Or if you actually think that the fairy tale world you've been living into for twenty years is reality".

Blaine whitened, unable to believe what was going on. He'd thought that Kurt had finally accepted him for what he was, but evidently he was wrong.

"If you are on watch, you can't spend you're time writing music or living your fantasies" Kurt continued, anger evident in his words "But maybe it's too much a difficult concept for your childish consideration". His eyes had hardened, as if to find inner strenght, and he was waving on his feet.

Blaine took back the piece of paper and the pencil which had fallen to the floor and headed to the main deck, not before dedicating Kurt a hurt look.

"You know, Hummel, you may not believe it, but I'm perfectly fine with living in my own world. It's not a place where I have to hide in, you see?"


End file.
